Matinee
by dappersquid
Summary: Elsa doesn't do matinees; Bette asks nicely. (Elsa/Bette femslash)


Elsa barely spared a glance over her shoulder when she heard the tent flap rustle behind her.

Seeing Bette—and Dot—she went back to the account book spread out on the desk in front of her.

"I'm busy now, liebchen," she called. "What do you want?"

The pathetic number she'd scratched down at the bottom of the ledger had her in a foul mood—and the humidity, oppressive even in the shadowed recesses of her tent, wasn't helping.

"A matinee."

"What?" Elsa turned in her chair to glare at the twins. "We don't do matinees. You know that." No doubt this was Dot's idea, trying to show off again-even though it was voiced in Bette's soft drawl.

"It sounded even dumber when you said it out loud," Dot muttered in that way the sisters were so prone to when they were arguing with each other.

Confused, Elsa glanced from one face to the other. Twin pairs of chocolate-colored eyes fixed on her, but, as usual, there the similarity ended.

As much as she wanted to shake the arrogant smirk right off Dot's face, Elsa found it hard to focus on anything other than the nervous way Bette was pulling her lower lip between her teeth-such pretty coral flesh, swelling as they bit down.

"That's not what I meant," Bette whispered.

Elsa had no doubt this comment was directed at her and her alone.

The twins shifted their weight from one foot to the other. Bette's fingers fidgeted in the fabric of their well-worn dress, the movement bunching the floral skirt up to reveal just a fraction more of her pale calf.

Elsa swallowed, catching on.

When Bette looked shyly up at her, actually batting her lashes, Elsa laughed, low and throaty, at the clumsy seduction, rolled the pen she'd been writing with over her fingers.

"You want to _fuck_ in the middle of the day," she said matter-of-factly.

She liked the way even the most banal of her curses still sent a flush up Bette's throat, liked the sharp little sound the girl made and the way her tongue suddenly darted out to wet her lips.

Maybe more calculating than clumsy, her Bette.

Elsa tossed the pen down.

The show would still be just as in the red in a few hours.

* * *

" _Please_ ," Bette whined. Her hips canted forward as Elsa's hands rucked up her skirt.

"What a little monster I've created." Elsa enunciated each syllable so they blew warm against Bette's ear, smiled as her words had their desired effect: Bette nodding and squeezing her eyes shut as Elsa slipped a hand between her legs.

Elsa graced Bette with an appreciative little hum at how deliciously damp she found her cotton-clad mound, knew it had absolutely nothing to do with the Florida heat.

Her fingers pushed the fabric aside just enough to make Bette hiss her name, found her just as warm and wet as always.

"It _is_ dire," Elsa's voice teased. Her fingers teased just the same, stroking through more intimate lips.

Bette shuddered as Elsa scraped her thumb nail over her clit. She grabbed Elsa's shoulder to steady herself.

Another hand fell to Elsa's forearm.

"It's all I've-" Elsa's finger slid easily inside, silky walls clenching around it immediately. "It's all I've been able to think about since I woke up this morning," Bette finished.

"My"-a kiss to Bette's temple- "poor"-her jaw- "angel"-and finally her mouth.

Elsa curled her finger and the girls' whole body hitched against her.

* * *

Elsa was faced with a dilemma.

She knew the way Bette would wiggle and squirm and clutch at her hair if she made her climb on her desk, knew exactly how she would taste on her tongue when they came.

Too much noise for the middle of the day-Bette could never be quiet when she used her mouth.

She was tempted to dig through a certain trunk, to find the biggest cock she owned and take her on all fours, to bury it to the hilt again and again until they cried for her to stop.

But, really, it was just too hot for such things. Another day.

* * *

She slipped her hand away, then sucked languidly on her finger. Bette's eyes grew even darker as she watched.

Elsa arched an eyebrow, made a decision.

* * *

"Show me."

Two foreheads furrowed.

* * *

She pushed the girls down on one end of the velvet sofa and took a seat in an over-stuffed chair just out of arm's reach. She crossed her legs and savored the subtle friction the movement created.

"But I want you," Bette complained, as Elsa reached for a pack of Lucky Strikes. "I could've done this myself-before breakfast."

"Then why didn't you?"

She generally didn't mind when Bette turned petulant because she pouted in such a pretty fashion-but she would have none of that today.

Bette frowned. It was nothing compared to the look on her sister's face.

"We are not going to sit here and touch ourselves for your amusement," Dot said.

"I wouldn't call it 'amusement' exactly."

Both girls stared intently at her; neither was immune to Elsa's suggestive tone-despite Dot's frequent protests to the contrary.

She exhaled a puff of smoke, flicked the cigarette so a bit of ash trailed off onto the rug.

"Either you pull up your skirt and spread your legs or you go away and stop pestering me."

The girls' heads tilted towards one another, communicating in a way Elsa wasn't privy to. But from the smile that now graced Bette's lips to the way Dot's chin dropped, she knew how the debate had been settled. She wondered, not for the first time, what Bette had been giving her sister in return for all their little rendezvous.

Dot closed her eyes and sighed in resignation.

Bette's eyes, however, were fixed on Elsa's. Her lip was caught between her teeth again-and for the briefest second, Elsa wanted to replace them with her own, to nip until she drew blood.

But Bette's fingers were steadily raising her skirt-handful by handful-to lay bunched around her waist.

When she started to peel her panties down her hip, Elsa said, "No. Leave them on."

* * *

Elsa took a slow drag off her cigarette and appreciated the sight laid out in front of her.

Their light peach dress was raised to their waist, their chest heaving in anticipation-such perfect peaches of breasts beneath, plump and ever so bite-able yet firm against her palms. With coral nipples the same shade as Bette's lips, peaks that begged to be pinched and sucked.

Elsa plucked at the pearl buttons of her own blouse, revealing the camisole underneath. She slid her hand up her throat and cursed the heat again.

She stubbed out her cigarette.

* * *

"What should I do now?" Bette asked.

Her hand was lying on her bare thigh, mere inches from where it wanted to be.

"Pretend your hand is my hand," Elsa suggested. "Think about the way you like me to touch you."

Bette nodded.

Her hand disappeared inside her panties, but Elsa could still see its outline, her movements, through the fabric. There was something utterly erotic about watching this debauched little piece of Americana-performed for her pleasure.

"I like when you tease-just a little bit-before going inside," Bette whispered.

Her hand moved slowly, fingers obviously stroking up and down the length of her labia.

Bette squirmed against the sofa and adjusted the angle of her hand. She moaned and Elsa recognized it as the sound she made when she entered her. She knew that Bette had slid a finger, her middle finger, inside herself. The movements obscured by the white cotton sped up, obviously the result of her finger dipping in, pulling out.

A small, familiar frown started to form on Bette's face.

"Just one?" Elsa scolded, recognizing the girl's growing frustration.

"Not enough," Bette confessed.

"Then use two."

* * *

Bette gasped.

"That's right, darling." Elsa smiled. "Show Elsa how you like to be touched."

The motions of her hand became more frantic.

"Come for me, my darling."

Bette's hips rose off the couch as her whole body seemed to arch.

* * *

When they came, it was a chorus.

* * *

Elsa had her own pants unzipped by the time she straddled the girls' thighs.

She took Bette's hand, still wet and trembling, and guided it inside the silk of her own underwear.

Bette didn't need any further instruction. She thrust two fingers just as far as they would go. She pulled them halfway out then returned them twice as hard, earned a breathless litany of "Yes, my darling, my sweet girl."

Bette's mouth found Elsa's neck and sucked a trail from the hollow of her throat to just below her ear.

She was distracted enough to miss the way Dot's hand gripped her hip and held her steady.

Bette's teeth briefly caught Elsa's earlobe before lisping: "I love it when you let me fuck you." It left Elsa no choice but to use her own fingers to rub rough circles around her center, to grip Bette's wrist and make her movements even rougher.

* * *

She cried out louder than she would have liked in the middle of the day-came harder than she would have thought possible in this heat.

* * *

Elsa allowed herself the luxury of laying draped tiredly over the twins afterwards-until Bette's nimble fingers twisted inside still-too sensitive flesh.

She started to protest, only to be cut off by Bette: "You can't forget the encore."

She braced her hands on the girls' shoulders, started to move her hips again, chasing just the right angle-and thanked the heavens that the fate of the show relied neither on Bette's singing nor her jokes.


End file.
